


I Know You (and you know me)

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, American Eames, Angst, As in Eames is not British, Canon Compliant, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Origin Story, Orphanage, Orphans, not graphic, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-21 07:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6043003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they first meet, Eames is ten.</p><p>(Or: Eames and Arthur are childhood friends.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When they first meet, Eames is ten. He’s sitting on the floor of his room, leaning back against the rickety, rusting bed and sullenly bouncing a small ball he nicked from one of the older boys off the frame of the bed across from him.

Someone had come in while he was out, probably during breakfast, and put a thin, floppy mattress on the no-longer-empty frame on the other side of Eames’ room. He’s furious. 

It’s _his_ room, and he’s made that pretty clear to everyone. He’s had this room all to himself since he first got here four years ago, and even though it’s really disgusting and pitiful, it’s still all _his,_ and he doesn’t want to give that up to whatever snot-nosed kid they bring in here who will no doubt cry about his parents and want hugs and comfort that will never come.

He throws the ball again, and just as it lands in his open hand, the door squeals open. 

“Eames?” It’s a woman – probably that annoying blonde one who continues to talk to him like he’s an itty bitty baby who still believes in Christmas and the Tooth Fairy even though he stopped deluding himself the minute he ended up here. “You have a new roommate.”

Eames purposefully doesn’t move a muscle except to throw the ball and catch it again. “Cheers,” he says, mimicking the odd accent of the main character in a film he just saw. Something about the way they talked, the strange lightness to their words, fascinates Eames. He’s practiced imitating them the last couple of days – in private, of course – and he’s gotten pretty good at it. He’d love to talk like that forever, if he could.

“This is Arthur,” the woman continues. Eames still doesn’t look. He bounces his ball again.

The woman sighs, murmurs something to Eames’ new roommate and the door squeals shut.

Eames can see the boy out of the corner of his eye, shuffling awkwardly. After a few moments of tense silence, he turns to face him. “Well?” he demands, raising an eyebrow at the kid. God, he’s tiny. He couldn’t be more than six, _maybe_ seven. Stupid parents, stupid people, stupid _life._ “What, you gonna stand there all day?”

The kid glances up at him then quickly looks back down at the ground.

Eames sighs and stands up. The kid shrinks back against the far wall, eyes glued to the floor, and Eames freezes.

“That how it was?” he asks, purposefully keeping his voice soft and moving slowly.

The kid shrugs, his bony shoulders making tiny bumps in the shirt that’s two sizes too big for him.

Eames sits on his bed and forces himself to relax. “I got left here when I was six,” he says, leaning back on his hands, letting his legs dangle off the side. He talks like that main character from that film – not with the strange accent, but in a soft, level tone. That main character used it to soothe a wild cat. “Nothing with me ‘cept the clothes I was wearin’. One of ‘em said Eames on the tag, so that’s what they call me.” He shrugs with a practiced casualness. “Gotten so used to it, I can’t really imagine what my real name would be. Would prob’ly hate it, you know?”

The kid shrugs again.

Eames narrows his eyes. “You gonna sit down or what?”

The kid scurries over to the other bed and sits on the very edge of it.

“You’re Arthur?”

The kid nods.

“That really your name?”

The kid shrugs.

Eames sighs. “Right.” He starts to swing his legs to burn off the energy that would normally make him pace. He doesn’t want to scare this kid too much. Eames thinks a scared, silent roommate is almost worse than a sad, crying one.

He notices Arthur carefully swing his legs, too.

“I won’t hurt you,” Eames says after a long silence. “Promise.”

Arthur’s legs stop, and he finally looks up at Eames. His eyes are a deep brown, and Eames hates that they’re already so haunted, so sad.

“That’s what he always said,” Arthur breathes. His voice is rough. Eames clenches his jaw. “Never meant anything.”

Eames nods. “Well, I’m promisin’ you now. Won’t hurt you. Won’t let anybody hurt you.”

Arthur flickers a broken smile at him. “Sorry I can’t believe you.”

Eames tries to smile back. This kid acts way too old for his age, and Eames hates that, hates everything to do with this situation, this place. He hates that this huge building is _filled_ with kids like him, kids like Arthur, whose parents never should have stepped up for the job they obviously couldn’t handle.

He wants to tell Arthur that he understands, that he wishes none of that had happened, that this life has already knocked them off their feet so soon after they learned how to actually use them, but he thinks it’s too much too soon, and after all, they’re still kids. Or at least, they’re still trapped in kid bodies.

“You will,” he says instead, making himself sound confident. He’s already learned that if you act like what you want to be, people will believe that’s how you are. “Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, like others in the Inception fandom, have loved the idea of characters who know each other better than anyone else. So this happened. I swear, when this popped into my mind, it was not so angsty/dark.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur was two, his father died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: child abuse

When Arthur was two, his father died. He doesn’t know how or why, but he knows he’s gone forever, and that’s really all he needs to know.

When Arthur was five, his mother’s brother came to live with them, to _help out._ When Arthur was five, his mother’s brother came into his room at night, to _tuck him in._

When Arthur was six, his mother’s brother hit him one night when Arthur said _stop._ When Arthur was six, his mother’s brother hit him one morning when Arthur said _no._ When Arthur was six, his mother’s brother hit him one afternoon when Arthur said _nothing,_ and his mother watched and said _nothing,_ too.

When Arthur was seven, his mother’s brother hurt him _bad._ When Arthur was seven, his mother’s brother got caught by his mother when he was hurting Arthur. When Arthur was seven, his mother’s brother hit his mother and dragged her out of Arthur’s room. When Arthur was seven, his mother’s brother killed his mother, and wanted to kill him, too. 

When Arthur was seven, he ran away, far, far away, and collapsed on the steps of the building he had heard about, the building that took care of kids like him, kids without parents. When Arthur was seven, he left behind his past and forced life to give him a fresh start. When Arthur was seven, he abandoned his first name, which was his mother’s brother’s, and his last name, which was his father’s, and shakily wrote – because he was still learning – his middle name on a scrap of paper from the trash.

When Arthur was seven, he was given clean clothes, warm food, and was brought into a room by a pretty blonde nurse and was introduced to his roommate.

When Arthur was seven, he listened to his roommate make promises, promises just as empty as the ones his mother and his mother’s brother used to make, and tried not to let himself hope.

When Arthur was seven, almost eight, his roommate kept his promise and stopped a group of older boys from hurting Arthur.

When Arthur was seven, almost eight, he failed worse than he ever had before.

When Arthur was seven, almost eight, he _trusted._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I worry sometimes about what my mind comes up with. I'm sorry!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames is fascinated by his new roommate.

Eames is fascinated by his new roommate. It takes weeks for him to come out of his shell, and even now, after almost a year of work, Arthur still barely talks.

He almost never speaks to the women in charge of the orphanage, and most of the other kids seem to think he’s mute. But he talks to Eames when they’re alone in their room, quiet and nervous. And he smiles at Eames sometimes, brilliantly and happily. And he trusts Eames now, unequivocally, unerringly. So Eames is content.

They don’t talk about their lives before they came here. They don’t talk about how they came here. They don’t talk about the future. They just talk about now.

Eames introduced Arthur to all his favorite movies, and amazingly, Arthur can now quote all of them, perfectly, word for word. 

One day, their usual teacher is sick, and their substitute has a large nose, extremely skinny arms, and a bowler hat. Eames feels Arthur slide a piece of paper onto his desk, and when he glances down he only barely stops himself from laughing. _[I have a big head and little arms…](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v7JaStGH-AQ)_ it says.

_Stop it, you’ll get us in trouble,_ Eames scrawls and quickly passes it back to Arthur.

He hears Arthur’s soft snort, but only because he’s listening very carefully for it.

~+~+~

The first night after he arrived, Arthur had a nightmare. Eames woke up to the sound of Arthur sobbing and speaking muddled, frenzied words, and Eames stayed in his bed, still as death, unsure of what to do. Arthur woke up a moment later with a harsh gasp, and the small room was filled with his ragged breaths. He hiccupped a few times, then the room was silent again.

In the morning, Eames acted like he hadn’t heard Arthur crying, and Arthur acted like he had slept blissfully through the night.

The next time he heard Arthur’s whimpers, Eames slid out of his bed and sat on the edge of Arthur’s. “Arthur?” he said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur gasped awake and immediately tried to get away from Eames, pushing himself back against the wall on the opposite side of his bed.

“No, no, Arthur,” Eames said. “It’s Eames, you’re alright, you’re safe. It’s Eames, Arthur. You’re not there anymore.”

Arthur stayed where he was for a moment, struggling to breathe deeply, then in a flurry of motion, he launched himself at Eames, wrapping his arms around the older boy.

Eames held Arthur gently as he listened to Arthur’s uneven breaths and felt the shoulder of his shirt grow damp and spoke quiet, soothing, meaningless words and felt Arthur’s short hair tickle the end of his nose.

They both fell asleep in Arthur’s bed that night. They both chose not to talk about it in the morning.

~+~+~

Arthur doesn’t tell Eames his birthday at first, and Eames understands. He never liked to celebrate his either – too many memories of horrible birthdays to ruin the mood – but that was before Arthur arrived. Now, Eames wants to do things for Arthur, wants to see him smile. So he finally coaxes the date out of Arthur, and the night before Arthur turns eight, he brings him up to the roof of the orphanage.

“Are we allowed up here?” Arthur asks.

“Nah,” Eames says. “But I come up here all the time, so it’s fine.”

Arthur’s eyes are squinty around the corners, and Eames knows him well enough by now to recognize that Arthur’s getting anxious. So Eames walks over to Arthur, slowly, to give Arthur time to pull away, and then gently tilts Arthur’s head up towards the sky.

Arthur resists at first, confused and nervous, but then his eyes widen and his mouth falls open, and Eames grins as Arthur looks at the stars.

“Wow,” Arthur breathes. “Thanks, Eames,” he says, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight.

“Anything for you, Arthur.”

They sit on the roof – far away from the edge, because Arthur’s not too keen on heights – and eat the fresh cornbread that Eames nicked from the kitchen right before he brought Arthur up here. It’s still warm, and they both savor the soft fluffiness that’s long gone by the morning when they all eat it for breakfast.

It starts to get colder as the night goes on, and Eames grabs the blanket he brought, draping it over their shoulders. Arthur leans tentatively into Eames’ side, relaxing in increments. Eames wants to wrap his arm around Arthur’s shoulders but knows it would probably ruin this, and this right now is good enough. He takes a deep breath, watching the sky, and nudges Arthur as a streak of light dashes past.

“Shooting star,” he whispers. “Make a wish.”

“Hmm.” Arthur burrows deeper under the blanket, pressing himself closer to Eames, eyes blissfully shut. “I wish we can always be together.”

Eames smiles down at him. _You’re not supposed to say your wish out loud,_ he wants to say. But he’s so indescribably _happy_ that that was Arthur’s wish, so he just quickly kisses the top of Arthur’s head and whispers, “Me too.”

It’s enough.

~+~+~

When Eames is twelve and Arthur is nine, they make the decision that if, by some miracle, someone wants to adopt them, they’ll go together or not at all.

~+~+~

When Eames is fifteen and Arthur is twelve, a husband and wife come to the orphanage. All the kids are talking about them, the first people to visit since Jimmy got adopted five years ago by that cranky old lady. They drive an expensive car. The woman wears furs; the man wears suits. Everyone knows that whoever they adopt will be spoiled rotten.

“Do you ever wonder?” Arthur asks that night while they’re lying in bed.

“Do I wonder what?”

“What your parents were like?”

Eames sits up. “I know what they were like, Arthur. And I’m glad to be rid of them.”

Arthur sighs softly. “It’s just…what would it have been like? Having parents who were good?”

Eames rolls out of his bed and climbs into Arthur’s. He can’t help but feel giddy when Arthur doesn’t hesitate or tense up, just moves over to make room for Eames under the covers.

“I wouldn’t change anything,” Eames says to him once they’re settled. “Never would’ve met you, then.”

It’s too dark to tell, but Eames knows that Arthur smiles.

“Now shut up and go to sleep already,” Eames mutters, closing his eyes. He smiles when he feels Arthur’s head rest against his chest and lightly traces patterns on the arm that rests on his stomach. Their breaths synchronize, slow, and soften.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur turned eight, Eames gave him the stars and the sky and warm food and a soft blanket. When Arthur was eight, he gave into hope and wished on a star that he would always have Eames in his life.

When Arthur turned eight, Eames gave him the stars and the sky and warm food and a soft blanket. When Arthur was eight, he gave into hope and wished on a star that he would always have Eames in his life.

When Arthur was nine, he and Eames watched movies and told jokes and loved life and promised each other that nothing would separate them, not even the dream of a new, loving family. They were enough family for each other.

When Arthur was ten, while Eames went to the library to get them some more movies to watch and books to read, he spotted his mother’s brother walking down the street through the wavy glass window in his room, and he curled up in the corner and refused to move, even when every adult in the building came to talk to him. 

When Arthur was ten, Eames came back from the library, panting and out of breath, and didn’t try to force Arthur to stand, to leave the room, to fight his demons. When Arthur was ten, Eames sat on the floor next to Arthur, close enough for Arthur to sense him but not so close that their bodies touched, pulled out the book he just got from the library, and started to read, speaking each character’s lines in a different accent.

When Arthur was eleven, Eames brought Arthur back up to the roof, and they curled up under a blanket and watched the stars, and Eames put his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, and Arthur put his arm around Eames’ waist, and Arthur felt warm and safe and loved and never wanted the night to end.

When Arthur was twelve, a rich man and woman came to the orphanage. When Arthur was twelve, the rich man and woman asked to see him, talked to him while Eames was at the library. When Arthur was twelve, the rich man and woman adopted him and took him away, even though Arthur said, _Not without Eames,_ and kicked and screamed and waited for Eames to come running around the corner, books and movies tucked under one arm and watched, face wet, through the back window of the rich man and woman’s fancy car as it drove away from the building, away from Eames.

When Arthur was twelve, he ran away for the second time in his life and climbed through the window Eames had left open for him and slipped into bed next to Eames’ warm body and sighed happily as Eames sleepily curled around him under the covers. When Arthur was twelve, he and Eames clung to each other in the night and whispered quiet promises to each other and stood together in the morning as the rich man and woman returned to the orphanage, hysterical, and left the orphanage, alone.

When Arthur was twelve, he held onto Eames’ hand and grinned up at his best friend, his _family,_ and knew that nothing would ever be able to keep them apart.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur’s one crazy little kid. Eames knows this now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know why, but this fic is coming along really quickly for me, writing-wise. (Watch, I just jinxed myself - I'm going to get writer's block tonight.) It's probably writing frustration because I still can't quite figure out what I want to do with [Unchained Melody](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5952099)...Sorry to anyone who's waiting on that! I'm trying, I promise! It'll come soon...ish.

Arthur’s one crazy little kid. Eames knows this now. He knew it the instant Arthur climbed in his window in the middle of the night and immediately curled up under the covers with him as if nothing had happened, as if Eames hadn’t torn the orphanage apart looking for Arthur, asking for Arthur, _screaming_ for Arthur. Eames didn’t tell him any of this, has no intention of _ever_ telling Arthur just how distraught he was when he came back and Arthur was gone, but he still learned a lot from that day.

He learned that he really shouldn’t go to the library alone anymore, because this is the second time something has happened to Arthur while he’s been away, and that’s more than enough proof for Eames. 

He also learned that Arthur, young, little, beautiful Arthur, has a crazy streak in him a mile wide.

And Eames is worried.

He turns eighteen at the end of the week, and he won’t be allowed to stay in the orphanage anymore. He knows the rules, he’s watched countless other kids venture out those doors and end up face-down in the street, worse than they arrived. He knows he’d probably be able to make it, probably would be able to survive for those three years while Arthur was still inside, but then what? Where would they go? Arthur wouldn’t last on the streets, Eames is certain. And it’s not like Eames has the means to get them an apartment, let alone a home.

So what does he do?

He tries to hide his worry from Arthur, tries to act like everything’s just fine, but his super-secret-disguise-powers don’t work on Arthur anymore. Arthur can see right through him. So he’s only partially surprised when Arthur confronts him Friday night about his behavior. But he’s absolutely, completely surprised when Arthur shoves some papers into his hands.

“What the hell is this?” he growls, crumpling the pages slightly.

“Enlistment papers,” Arthur says, looking Eames straight in the eye. Eames can’t help but feel proud of him, his Arthur, who hasn’t cowered from anyone in five years, who learned how to fight at Eames’ insistence – and often wins – who isn’t afraid to look people right in the eye and tell them what he thinks. 

Arthur’s learned how to say a lot with as few words as possible, and as he’s gotten older, it’s made him seem dry and sarcastic instead of withdrawn and shy. Somehow in the last eight years, he’s grown, too, so he and Eames are the exact same height, eye to eye, nose to nose.

Eames really is proud of Arthur for coming so far. But he still, sometimes, can’t _bloody_ understand him.

He says this to Arthur, and the corners of Arthur’s eyes crinkle as he grins radiantly. “I love it when you talk like a British person,” is all he says.

Eames huffs. So what if he’s been making them watch more British films lately? So what is he’s gotten really _bloody_ good at acting like an Englishman? That’s not the point of this conversation, is it?

“Why are you giving me these papers, Arthur?” he asks, trying to stay calm.

Arthur gives him a “duh” look. “So you can enlist. I thought that was self-explanatory.”

Sometimes Eames wants to just strangle him. “I’m not going anywhere without you. And” –Eames lets a hint of hurt creep into his voice here– “what happened to us sticking together?”

Arthur sighs. “You turn eighteen in two days. Where’re you going to go, Eames?”

Eames shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. But I’m not going anywhere without you, Arthur, especially not overseas.”

Arthur frowns as he ponders this, and Eames lets him. He knows that Arthur takes longer to process than Eames does, but he always uncovers things Eames misses and, well, Eames likes watching Arthur, so it’s never really been a hardship anyway.

“Three years,” Arthur says.

“What?”

“Can you last three years?”

“Sure. What are we doing in three years?”

Arthur’s eyes gleam. “Joining the army. Together.”

Eames takes a deep breath for strength. Crazy streak. Mile wide.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur was fifteen, Eames aged out of the orphanage and left Arthur behind so that he could try and survive on his own.

When Arthur was fifteen, Eames aged out of the orphanage and left Arthur behind so that he could try and survive on his own. When Arthur was fifteen, he spent his days looking out his window or meeting up with Eames in the streets or jogging to the library to read a book with his best friend. 

When Arthur was fifteen and Eames was on his own, Arthur wasn’t _that_ worried – he knew Eames could probably con his way through the next three years, getting sympathetic women to give him money in the streets, convincing cafes to hand him free food. But when Arthur was fifteen and Eames was on his own, Arthur _was_ worried, because Eames was all he had.

But when Arthur was fifteen, before Eames was on his own, they made a deal, and Arthur held him to it three years later.

So when Arthur was eighteen, and he and Eames were on their own together, they enlisted in the army – and Eames was shocked when Arthur registered under his actual, given name but quickly dropped the subject after Arthur’s reaction – and they learned how to fight, how to hold a gun. And when Arthur was eighteen, and he and Eames were on their own together, they were determined to survive everything they encountered so they could go to college for free and Eames could study literature like he wanted and could maybe get his hands on some actual, working art supplies to really practice drawing and maybe even painting, and Arthur could learn about paradoxes and architecture and impossible things.

When Arthur was eighteen, he and Eames were together, and that was the most important thing of all.

When Arthur was twenty, Eames got recruited to help out in a Top Secret Project because of his skill with mimicry, and because Arthur and Eames were always going to be Arthur and Eames, Arthur got involved in the Top Secret Project, too. When Arthur was twenty, he became a part of Project Somnacin, and he and Eames dreamed with other men, fighting for hours on end and waking up to find that only minutes had passed.

When Arthur was twenty-one, Eames Forged in a dream for the first time _ever,_ and everyone was flabbergasted, and Arthur was proud – because Eames had been forging things outside of dreams for _ages_ so Arthur wasn’t that surprised that Eames could do something spectacular inside a dream, too – and Eames started to change his appearance every time they dreamed, and they made it a game, for Arthur to try and figure out who Eames was amidst all the projections.

When Arthur was twenty-two, the army tried to separate him and Eames, so the two of them went AWOL – but not without stealing two PASIV devices and blowing up a storage unit on their way out. When Arthur was twenty-two, he may have flown a helicopter across the Atlantic, if the rumors are true. When Arthur was twenty-two, he may have also fought off one hundred men with only a pipe and set of handcuffs, if the rumors are true.

When Arthur was twenty-two, he and Eames were on the run together, and Eames put his non-dream-related skills to use, falsifying documents and faking accents and getting them far, far away from anyone who could possibly want them.

When Arthur was twenty-two, he and Eames forced life to given them yet another fresh start, and they settled in Paris as Arthur, the architect, and Eames, the British ex-pat.

When Arthur was twenty-two, he and Eames met Malorie and Dom Cobb, and their fresh start wasn’t so fresh anymore. But he and Eames were together, and that was the most important thing of all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames doesn’t know why he does it.

Eames doesn’t know why he does it.

He and Arthur are sitting outside a small café, with Arthur sketching impossible architecture in a small notebook in front of him. He’s talking a mile a minute, telling Eames about how amazing this Escher guy is, how incredible it would be to come up with things like this, and Eames is just smiling, sipping his tea, watching Arthur glow. 

“Absolutely, love,” Eames says when Arthur pauses to take a breath.

Eames is talking with a British accent – it was Arthur’s idea to make him British, but Eames quite likes it and thinks he may as well practice the accent when he can – when a shadow falls over their table. He and Arthur both look up at the man and woman standing next to them, army instincts kicking in at the unmistakable sound of an American accent.

“Hello,” the man says. He gestures to Arthur’s notebook. “I couldn’t help but notice. Escher?”

Arthur blinks. “Yeah. Great guy.”

“Mm, how would you like to be able to build some of those things?” the man asks.

Eames frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but Arthur beats him to it. “Sorry, what did you say your name was?”

The man laughs. “Sorry, I didn’t give it. Dom Cobb. This is my wife, Mal.”

Mal extends her hand to Arthur, then Eames. “Malorie,” she says with a soft French accent.

“Arthur. This is Eames.”

Dom turns to Eames. “What part of England are you from? We just came from there a few weeks ago.”

Now, Eames could say he’s American, could say he was just playing at the accent. But for some reason, he doesn’t.

“Brighton,” he says with a grin. “You ever been?”

“Oh, no we were in London,” Mal responds. She rests her hand on Dom’s arm. “It was a brief visit.”

“Shame,” Eames says. “Beautiful there.”

Dom turns back to Arthur. “So how about it then?”

A crease appears between Arthur’s eyebrows. “How about what?”

Dom smiles. “How would you like to build the Penrose steps?”

~+~+~

“He’s got to be a plant, Arthur. There’s no other way to build paradoxical architecture. I know it, you know it, _he_ obviously knows it. That can’t be a coincidence.”

They’re in their hotel room, preparing for bed. Dom had left Arthur and Eames with a card that only had Dom’s name, a single phone number, and an address.

Arthur sighs as he pulls off his shirt. “Shouldn’t we investigate first, Eames?”

“No. We should run for the hills before he even has the chance to notice we’re gone.”

Eames sits on the edge of the bed and tugs off his shoes. Arthur sits next to him and wraps his arms around Eames, resting his head on Eames’ shoulder. “Come on,” Arthur says. “Don’t you miss it?”

Eames raises a brow and looks down at Arthur’s wide, pleading eyes. “Yes. But that’s your fault, if I recall, since we have not one, but two PASIVs and could easily be dreaming every day if you weren’t so paranoid.”

Arthur sighs, but Eames plows on.

“And do you really mean to tell me you would feel more comfortable going under with this stranger who literally walked up to us in the middle of nowhere and now wants us to go to his top secret lair? You’d be more comfortable with him than with me?”

Arthur frowns. “What? Eames, no. No, that’s not it at all.”

“So why can’t we just dream – the two of us – and leave the Cobbs alone, hm?”

Arthur sighs again and bites his lip, and Eames knows he’s screwed.

~+~+~

“Good morning! I wasn’t sure you’d come.” Dom is all smiles as he ushers Eames and Arthur into his top secret lair, which is actually, much to Eames’ surprise, a nice-sized villa with curtains and rugs and other domestic things.

“Thank Arthur,” Eames mutters.

“Ah, _bon jour,_ ” Mal says, entering the room. “Please, sit.”

Eames and Arthur sit on a plush, floral-patterned couch while Dom and Mal sit across from them in arm chairs.

“What is the most resilient parasite?” Dom asks them.

“Dom,” Mal chides. She turns to Eames and Arthur with a smile. “Would you like anything to drink?”

Both Eames and Arthur decline, and Dom plows on. “Bacteria? A virus? An intestinal worm?”

Arthur frowns, and Eames snorts. “Something tells me the answer is none of the above,” he says, relishing the way vowels sound when he’s British.

“An idea,” Dom says. “Resilient. Highly contagious. Once an idea’s taken hold of the brain, it’s almost impossible to eradicate.”

Eames glances over at Arthur.

“Where exactly are you going with this, Mr. Cobb?” Arthur asks.

Mal leans forward. “Dreaming.”

Eames frowns and purses his lips. “If it’s all the same to you lot, I’d rather not share my nightly fantasies with you. I don’t see any reason to scar you this early on.”

Arthur laughs quietly.

“No, my dear,” Mal says with a smile. “This is a different kind of dreaming.”

~+~+~

Eames doesn’t know how he let Arthur get them into this mess. They’re currently “learning” how to dream from a stranger they just met, a stranger who, Arthur discovers after Eames practically ties him to his computer, is the world’s best extractor – the best dreamer in the black-market dream-share community.

“I think this would result in a slightly worse punishment than our going AWOL ever will,” Eames says to Arthur one night. “You aren’t actually considering this, are you?”

“What if I am?”

Eames sighs loudly and runs a hand across his face. “You know I’ll come with you. I just feel inclined to advise very strongly against it, that’s all.”

Arthur rests his head on Eames’ chest like he did when they were younger. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

Eames smiles. “What happened to that little scrawny kid who could barely look me in the eye? I never would have had this problem with him.”

Arthur chuckles. “You helped him grow up. Now you have to reap what you sow.”

“Bugger,” Eames says in his accent. “Can I get a refund?”

“No. Now shut up and go to sleep.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur was fifteen, he realized he was in love with Eames.

When Arthur was fifteen, he realized he was in love with Eames. But when Arthur was fifteen, Eames was eighteen, and Eames was leaving the orphanage to try and survive on his own, so Arthur decided to wait until he was older to tell Eames how he felt.

But when Arthur was eighteen, he and Eames enlisted in the army, and then when Arthur was twenty, he and Eames were constantly dreaming and fighting to survive, and then when Arthur was twenty-two, he and Eames were on the run, so Arthur never really found the perfect time to tell him.

And when Arthur was twenty-two, he was suddenly filled with doubt and fear that maybe, possibly, Eames didn’t love him back, not like that, so Arthur decided that there would probably never be a perfect time to tell him.

So when Arthur was twenty-two, he settled for the next best thing and encroached on Eames’ personal space whenever they were alone – and Eames always let him, almost seemed to welcome him whenever he rested his head on Eames’ shoulder or carefully, casually wrapped an arm around Eames’ waist. And when Arthur was twenty-two, it was enough.

When Arthur was almost twenty-three, he and Eames participated in their first illegal extraction, which was almost disappointingly similar to every legal extraction they had ever performed, except that they were constantly hiding from everyone, and they had much less funding. When Arthur was almost twenty-three, Dom and Mal let Arthur take point, and he settled into the role like a second skin while Eames studied and tailed and became their mark’s mother – a task that tickled Eames to no end. When Arthur was almost twenty-three, he struggled to ignore Eames as he sashayed around their hotel room, trying to imitate their mark’s mother’s stride.

When Arthur was twenty-three, and Eames was twenty-six, they left the shelter of the Cobbs and decided to venture out on their own in the dream-share community. When Arthur was twenty-three, and he and Eames were no longer working exclusively with the Cobbs, Arthur realized that very few extractors were willing to put their trust in a twenty-something-year-old who, as one man put it, looked like he just came out of his mama. So when Arthur was twenty-three, he started dressing the part, wearing suits and slicking back his hair, looking older and more experienced – and ignoring Eames’ complaints and grumblings and whining.

When Arthur was twenty-three, Mal killed herself, and he and Eames rushed to America to offer Cobb support, then chased Cobb to Paris, where their idiotic extractor had decided to hide.

When Arthur was twenty-four, he and Eames were separated during a job that ended badly and continued to end badly even after they had all woken up. When Arthur was twenty-four, he fled back to America with the passport Eames had made him, and Eames hunkered down in Mombasa with the heavily encrypted, nearly-untraceable phone Arthur had given him, and for the first time since Arthur was seven, he and Eames were apart for months while they waited for their extremely angry – and extremely wealthy – mark to settle down again and forget about them.

While Arthur was twenty-four, he took a job with Cobb – grudgingly, since he knew better than anyone that Cobb now was a far cry from Cobb then – and tried not to hate himself too much when it went down the drain and immediately started to think of how to deal with Cobol Engineering. And when Arthur was twenty-four, he watched, helpless, as Saito convinced Cobb to take on a dangerous, impossible job, and tried not to strangle the obviously desperate man, who, sometimes, was Arthur’s friend, before they landed.

The day after Arthur turned twenty-five, Cobb returned from Mombasa with Eames and their new chemist in tow, and Arthur tried not to launch himself at Eames the moment he entered the building and focused on the maze Ariadne was asking him about instead of staring at the man he hadn’t seen in months.

The day after Arthur turned twenty-five, Eames engulfed him in a brief hug, the type that men give to other men who are their friends and acquaintances, and the day after Arthur turned twenty-five, while Cobb was talking to Yusuf and Ariadne, Eames bent down over the back of Arthur’s chair and rested his cheek against Arthur’s temple and whispered in his accent, “I’m sorry I missed your birthday, darling,” and – did he kiss Arthur’s ear? – and straightened again, leaving behind a tantalizing hint of his aftershave – the very same kind Arthur was currently wearing – and a very, very flustered Arthur.

The day after Arthur turned twenty-five, he decided that the “perfect time” he had been waiting for was a pipe dream, and he decided that he was going to tell Eames, nothing held back, the moment they finished this job (if they survived it). The day after Arthur turned twenty-five, he sat stiff as a board during their preliminary meeting, every brain cell focused on preventing him from smiling – grinning – like a complete fool.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames misses Arthur.

Eames misses Arthur. He goes to Mombasa and says hello to Yusuf and lays low and stares at the phone Arthur gave him, willing it to light up.

He gets two texts during the months they’re apart. The first tells Eames that Arthur is safe. The second says, _Working with DC. Inception. C coming to you. Told him we fought. Luck._

Eames reads it, swears, and decides to take full advantage of Arthur’s wish of good luck and immediately heads to the nearest casino to gamble away his money instead of being stupid and reckless and texting or calling Arthur back to wish him a happy birthday. It’s the first one in decades that they haven’t spent together.

Cobb finds him hunched over a table, and Eames lets his inescapable, petty jealousy that Cobb has been with Arthur more than Eames has in the last few weeks manifest as a cold, aloof, potentially rude attitude.

When Cobb tells him that he is going to attempt Inception, Eames carefully keeps his posture relaxed, tone casual, as he cracks open a nut and says it’s perfectly possible, it’s just bloody difficult.

He can’t resist from saying Arthur’s name, reveling in the way it sounds rolling off his tongue, its stiff edges smoothed away by the lilt of a British accent in a way that, somehow, reminds him of Arthur. But everything reminds him of Arthur these days.

 _How is he?_ he wants to ask. _Is he sleeping? Is he remembering to eat? You’re letting him overwork himself, aren’t you?_

“You still working with that stick in the mud?” he says instead, trying to play along with whatever story Arthur told Cobb to explain why they aren’t attached at the hip like usual.

“He’s good at what he does.”

“Oh, he’s the best.” And anyone who says otherwise would have to say it through the fist Eames will readily shove down their throats, but Eames doesn’t think Cobb would appreciate the visual, so he keeps that thought to himself. “But he has no imagination,” he says instead.

It’s not enough.

~+~+~

He arrives in the warehouse with Yusuf and Cobb, and Eames feels something that he hadn’t even realized was jagged inside of him reset and smooth itself when he sees Arthur’s face. And then something else inside of him cracks when he notices the tightness around Arthur’s eyes, the stiffness in Arthur’s jaw, the way his shirts hang ever-so-slightly around his torso, the – at least to Eames – distinct impression that Arthur’s normally curly hair is staying slicked back by the sheer force of Arthur’s will alone.

He wants to wrap Arthur up in his arms, let Arthur rest his head on Eames’ shoulder and just _breathe_ like he so obviously needs to, let Arthur lower his guard for the first time in months, but Arthur told Cobb that they argued, so Eames settles for a brief hug, tries to ignore the way Arthur clutches Eames’ shirt in his fingers, and settles for whispering to Arthur while the others aren’t paying attention, holding back a smug smile at the familiar smell of his cologne, quickly, recklessly kissing the edge of Arthur’s ear, and walking away.

Arthur seems stiffer than usual, and it reminds Eames of a fractured vase coated in glue and tape and what-have-you that will shatter at the slightest disturbance. He acts like he doesn’t notice.

When they’re approaching the end of their first day, a nondescript key card for a nearby hotel materializes on Eames’ desk, with a miniscule post-it on the back. Eames memorizes the number on the post-it, then quickly pockets the card and returns to his notes on their mark.

That evening, he heads to the hotel and unlocks the door to room 285.

Arthur crashes into him instantly, wrapping his arms around Eames’ waist and tucking his forehead against Eames’ collarbone and taking the deep, steady breaths Eames had been waiting for him to take all day long.

“Missed you,” he says, words muffled by Eames’ shirt.

“You too, Arthur,” Eames whispers. He presses his nose against Arthur’s hair, nudging a few of the strands free from the thin layer of gel remaining.

Arthur’s hands clench. “I really hate this shirt,” he mutters.

Eames laughs. “I know you do.”

“So why do you wear it?”

Eames inhales, closing his eyes at Arthur’s familiar scent. “Reminds me of you.”

Arthur pauses, and Eames lightly hits him on the side of the head when he doesn’t breathe for a moment. “You know better,” he chastises.

Arthur sighs. “Why do you say things like that?”

“Always have,” Eames says with a shrug.

“True.” Arthur laughs. “Very true.”

“What’s wrong, Arthur?” Eames runs a hand lightly up and down Arthur’s back, gently trying to rub away the tension. “What’s the matter?”

Arthur shrugs and sniffs. “Cobb’s trying to get us all killed.”

Eames hums. “Yes, but that’s not it.”

“Yeah,” Arthur agrees immediately, knowing better at this point than to try to lie to Eames. “Yeah, it isn’t, but I’m not ready to tell you yet.”

Eames kisses the top of Arthur’s head. “Alright.”

With a soft sigh, Arthur presses closer against Eames. “I’ll tell you after we finish the job, okay?”

“Take your time, Arthur. I’m here.”

~+~+~

Eames makes it his life’s mission to make Arthur relax while they’re preparing for the most dangerous job they’ve ever attempted. He pokes fun at Arthur, tips his chairs, hides his concern under a thin guise of annoyance and condescension. When Arthur talks back, he knows that his concern is noted. When Arthur glares, he knows it’s appreciated.

And at night, when they’re in their hotel room, he falls asleep only after Arthur has, stretched out, boneless, guileless, along Eames’ side, with Eames’ hand idly playing with Arthur’s hair, with Arthur’s breath tickling Eames’ chest.

~+~+~

The job is doomed from the instant they put themselves under, and Eames knows Arthur is beating himself up for missing the militarization even though Eames has seen Arthur’s research and knows just how almost-impossible it is to discover if the mark’s been militarized.

They’re caught in a shoot-out, and he and Arthur fall into the familiar rhythm of their army days, and between their good aim and Arthur’s reckless driving, they make it out.

“Are you okay?” Arthur shouts over his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Eames responds, trying to figure out how to soothe the rising panic he can sense in Arthur. He licks his lips and glances over to his right. “Fischer’s fine, as long as he doesn’t get carsick.”

He senses the wave of panic ebb in Arthur, but then he turns to Saito and sees the blood staining his pristine shirt, and Eames knows that the wave of panic in Arthur has become a flood.

They book it to the warehouse, and Eames runs out to get the door. He gets Fischer into the back room and hears voices. Raised voices. Cobb’s raised voice. Yelling at Arthur.

“We have dealt with sub-security before. We’ll be a little more careful, we’re gonna be fine.”

Eames hears Arthur’s voice crack, and he’s dreamt himself a gun and is striding into the room before he can blink twice. But he can’t come to Arthur’s defense, not publically, even as his every instinct is telling him to _murder_ Cobb for yelling at Arthur when he’s already, obviously, clearly stretched thin as it is, when he’s already bogged himself down with lists of responsibilities and tasks. Eames loves that Arthur likes to keep track of details, especially on complicated jobs, but he’s fairly certain that Arthur’s need for control has to do with his childhood, and he doesn’t need Cobb to remind Arthur of that.

“It’s not okay! He is dying for God’s sakes!”

So he decides to be a distraction instead and walks over to Saito, saying, “Alright, so let’s put him out of his misery then.”

It’s a bigger distraction than he realized as Cobb bodily shoves him away from Saito, grabbing the gun. And Eames truly wants to simply shoot Cobb in the head, limbo be damned, when he reveals just how much he’s screwed them all over.

When Arthur and Yusuf leave to bring Saito upstairs, Eames turns to Cobb, still bristling from his treatment of Arthur, and says, “Great. Thank you. So, now we're trapped in Fischer's mind battling his own private army, and if we get killed, we'll be lost in limbo till our brains turn to scrambled egg.”

He gives Cobb a look that doesn’t begin to convey just how much Eames despises him right now, and watches Cobb walk away.

~+~+~

He sees Arthur shooting at projections, hears his curse as he misses.

“You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger darling,” he says, the endearment tumbling out of his mouth at the sight of Arthur’s steadily increasing anxiety. Based on Arthur’s look, Eames’ effort is appreciated, but ultimately unsuccessful.

~+~+~

The last thing Eames wants to do is leave Arthur alone on the next level, but it’s part of the plan, and there’s nothing to do.

By unspoken agreement, Arthur grabs Eames’ line as Eames lies down on the floor. Eames starts to unbutton his sleeve but pulls his hand away and lets Arthur’s nimble fingers take care of it. He knows Arthur needs to feel like he’s in control of _something_ right now, and he’s more than happy to oblige, especially if it gives him just a few seconds of privacy with Arthur.

“Security’s gonna run you down hard,” he murmurs, watching Arthur’s hands.

“And I will lead them on a merry chase.”

Eames isn’t fooled by Arthur’s quicksilver smile. He knows Arthur has probably come up with hundreds of scenarios and is, even now, creating hundreds more. But he forces a grin on his face and tilts his head back against the floor.

 _Be careful,_ he wants to say. _Watch your six. Don’t do anything reckless or stupid. Don’t make me lose you._

“Just be back before the kick,” he says instead.

Arthur’s hand tightens on his wrist, and Eames knows he’s heard everything Eames isn’t saying.

“Go to sleep, Mr. Eames,” he says instead.

It’s almost enough.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur was twenty-five, he performed Inception.

When Arthur was twenty-five, he performed Inception. When Arthur was twenty-five, he fought projections in a spinning hallway, wearing most of a three-piece suit, and kept the others safe and told gravity to kiss his ass. When Arthur was twenty-five, he sat in the corner of the elevator, staring at Eames' calm face, rocking slightly as he tried to estimate when to trigger the charges, trying to remember to breathe in spite of his nerves, and he wondered if twenty-five was too early for retirement.

When Arthur was twenty-five, he and Eames walked through customs, and watched Cobb step on American soil for the first time in years, and booked a room in a nearby hotel so Arthur could monitor everything like usual and make sure that everyone made it home safely.

When Arthur was twenty-five, Eames sat down on the bed and pulled Arthur to sit down at his side and rested his head on Arthur's shoulder and said he was so bloody glad that they made it out alive. And when Arthur was twenty-five, he took a deep breath, then another, and another, and realized he couldn't get the words past his throat, so when Arthur was twenty-five, he turned to face Eames and kissed him and tried not to panic, tried not to think about what he would do if Eames walked away, if Arthur lost the only important thing in his life.

And when Arthur was twenty-five, Eames inhaled sharply and wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist and threaded a hand through Arthur's hair and kissed Arthur back, and it was everything Arthur had imagined, only _more,_ and Arthur wondered why he had never done this before.

And when Arthur was twenty-five, he and Eames fell asleep wrapped around each other just like they always had, and it felt like nothing was different, except _everything_ was different, and Arthur fell asleep with the comforting rhythm of Eames' heart beating under his ear. When Arthur was twenty-five, just before he was fast asleep, he smiled and whispered, "I love you," into Eames' ear. When Arthur was twenty-five, he didn't notice that Eames had not yet fallen asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pondering changing the title...Does "I Know You (better than myself)" do anything for you all? Or should I just leave it as is?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has become a habit for Eames, not to fall asleep until Arthur has.

It has become a habit for Eames, not to fall asleep until Arthur has. It’s his way to make sure that Arthur _does_ sleep, and it’s second-nature at this point. So he’s wide awake, staring at the hotel room’s ceiling, reliving that exquisite kiss, when he hears Arthur whisper, “I love you.”

Eames doesn’t know what to do. So he doesn’t do anything, and Arthur’s breaths even out and deepen in moments. Eames stares at the ceiling long into the night.

~+~+~

The next morning, Eames is already up and about when Arthur finally wakes up.

“Morning,” Arthur mumbles, hair falling in sloppy curls around his face. He blinks, frowns, and rubs his eyes sluggishly.

Eames can’t help but smile. “Morning, Arthur. Want some breakfast?”

“Sure.” Arthur lowers his hands. He glances over at Eames then down at the bedspread.

Eames sits on the edge of the bed and places a hand over Arthur’s fingers, which are tugging at loose threads on the comforter. Arthur stills.

“You alright?” Eames asks.

Arthur nods.

“Are you…” Eames tries to think of the right words. “Do you regret that we–”

 _“No,”_ Arthur says.

Eames grins. “Good. I don’t either.”

Arthur looks up at him through his eyelashes. “No?”

“No.”

Eames leans closer to Arthur, so their temples are touching. “And you know what?” he whispers.

“What?”

Eames kisses the shell of Arthur’s ear. “I love you, too.”

Arthur tenses, and Eames slides away to order them some room service. He tells himself he’s giving Arthur some time to process and regroup. Besides, there’s no need to torture himself, watching Arthur’s face while anxiously awaiting an answer. No, it’s much better for him to stay away, torturing himself with his own predictions of what will happen.

Eames wishes, right about now, that his imagination was not so vivid.

Just as their food arrives, Arthur emerges from the bedroom, dressed in his favorite pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, hair free and curling softly around his face.

“Bon appetit,” Eames says, placing their plates on the table with a flourish.

Arthur smiles faintly and starts eating. He has to pause regularly to push his sweatshirt’s large sleeves up his arms.

Eames squints at it. “That looks vaguely familiar.”

Arthur glances up at him. “What does?”

“Your sweatshirt.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “It should. It’s yours.”

“Oh. No wonder.”

Arthur flickers a smile at him, picks at his eggs and toast, then takes a glass of milk back to bed with him, grabbing his laptop on his way.

“Everyone alright?” Eames asks, joining Arthur and gently nudging his arm with a plate of toast until Arthur grabs a piece and mechanically starts eating it.

“Mhmf,” Arthur mumbles through his mouthful of bread. He finishes chewing. “Cobb made it home fine. Ariadne…” He types furiously for a few moments. Eames devours a dainty breakfast pastry. “Ariadne’s good. She went home, too.”

“Yusuf?” Eames asks. He breaks another dainty breakfast pastry in half and waves it enticingly in front of Arthur’s face. Arthur leans to the side to try and see his laptop screen around Eames’ hand until he sighs loudly and opens his mouth. “Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, darling,” Eames says in his accent, smiling brightly while Arthur chews sullenly.

“Yusuf went back to Mombasa,” Arthur reports, rolling his eyes and refocusing on his computer. “Caught the first flight out.”

“Lovely.” Eames licks some of the pastry’s filling off his fingers.

Arthur wordlessly hands Eames a napkin. Eames doesn’t even bother asking where Arthur got it. “Thank you, darling,” he says.

Arthur frowns. “You said that in the dream, too.”

“Oh? Do tell, darling.”

Arthur smiles. “Shut up. And stop talking in your accent. I miss your normal voice.”

“You once told me you loved when I talked like a British person.”

“Years ago,” Arthur says with a snort. “But now you do it for everyone, and you only use your actual voice around me, so…” He shrugs.

Eames smiles and leans against Arthur’s side, idly watching Arthur’s fingers fly across the keyboard of his laptop. “Anything for you, Arthur,” he murmurs. “So what did I say in your dream?”

“The Inception dream,” Arthur clarifies. “You called me darling there, too.”

Eames thinks. “I suppose I did. Does it bother you?”

Arthur’s fingers hesitate, hovering over the keys. “No,” he says. “But it doesn’t seem fair that I only get a nickname when you’re acting British.”

Eames slowly straightens and turns to Arthur. “Is that so?”

Arthur glances at him out of the corner of his eye and smirks. “Yes.”

“Hmm…” Eames flops back against Arthur’s side, ignoring Arthur’s grunt and the pointy elbow jabbed in his ribs. “What about cupcake?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Pumpkin?”

“No way.”

“Artie?”

“No.”

“Arturus?”

“You’re not even trying.”

“My king?”

“Eames. Seriously?”

Eames sniggers. “Couldn’t help it. Sorry. I’ll have to think about this, Arthur.”

“Yes, you will.”

The rhythmic clicking of the laptop keys stops.

“Huh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Saito wired our money into the same account.”

“Which one?” Eames halfheartedly tries to sit up, but he’s more comfortable leaning against Arthur. He snags himself another breakfast pastry, considers forcing it on Arthur, then decides he’d rather try to make it to his next birthday without any additional scars.

“The Swiss one.”

Eames frowns. “I thought no one knew about that one.”

“No, it’s fine, it’s the one I gave him.”

“Oh.” Eames glances at Arthur. “So what’s wrong?”

Arthur sighs and tilts his head so that it rests on top of Eames’. “He put both our paychecks in it. I didn’t tell him to do _that.”_

Eames shrugs and presses his lips against Arthur’s shoulder. “Well, we have our money, and we’re both alive, so I’m not too concerned.”

Arthur snorts and shuts his laptop, sliding down the bed until he’s lying flat on his back. Eames hums happily and sprawls on top of Arthur, laughing at Arthur’s muffled protests.

“Eames, I swear to God, if you don’t get off me _right now–”_

Eames rolls to the side and tucks his head under Arthur’s shoulder. “Happy?”

Eames feels long, precise fingers lightly tangle in his hair. He shuts his eyes with a sigh.

“Thanks, by the way,” Arthur says.

“What for?”

“Standing up to Cobb for me in the first level.”

“You’re not annoyed?”

“What, that you came dashing in like a knight in shining armor? I mean, we both know I’m no damsel in distress.”

Eames smirks. “No, you’re not.”

“You could be, though,” Arthur says with a laugh.

“Shut up.”

They fall into a comfortable quiet.

Arthur fidgets. “I didn’t mean to say that last night.”

Eames takes a breath and ignores the surprising pain that causes, even though Eames was half-expecting Arthur to do this, to backtrack. “Did you not mean it?” he asks.

Arthur pauses, his breathing stopped as he thinks. Eames wants to poke him and chastise him like he usually does, but he decides against it.

“No,” Arthur says at last. “I meant it.”

“Good.” Eames closes his eyes again and throws an arm over Arthur’s waist. “So shut up and go to sleep. We’ll catch the first flight out tomorrow morning.”

“Out where?” Arthur asks, tracing patterns on Eames’ arm.

“Hmmm…Paris? We can go get those scones you adore.”

“Sure. Paris it is.”

“Excellent, darling. Now shut up and–”

“I know, Eames. Shut up and go to sleep already.”

The room is silent for a few moments. Arthur takes a deep breath.

“Love you,” he breathes.

Eames smiles and kisses Arthur’s arm. “Love you too.”

They fall asleep together.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Arthur was twenty-five, the day after his Very First Eames Kiss, Arthur and Eames sat in their hotel room and talked and ate and napped, then talked, ate, and napped some more, because no matter how many times they did it, Arthur and Eames both found dream-sharing to be draining and exhausting and enjoyed taking a day or two after a job to do nothing but recuperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry that it's been so long, everyone!! I had a very serious case of writer's block, and it was tough to overcome! Thanks to everyone who's sent me kudos and commented! I hope you enjoy!

When Arthur was twenty-five, the day after his Very First Eames Kiss, Arthur and Eames sat in their hotel room and talked and ate and napped, then talked, ate, and napped some more, because no matter how many times they did it, Arthur and Eames both found dream-sharing to be draining and exhausting and enjoyed taking a day or two after a job to do nothing but recuperate.

When Arthur was twenty-five, the day after Eames said he loved him back, they flew to Paris and bought those scones that Arthur adored and settled down in the apartment they had bought back when they were young soldiers on the run, back when they had met the Cobbs.

When Arthur was twenty-six, he and Eames took separate jobs for the first time in ages, and after Arthur’s extractor and Eames’ chemist each screwed up royally and Arthur and Eames were both on the run on completely different continents, they decided that they would only take jobs together or not at all.

When Arthur was twenty-seven, he and Eames went out to eat one warm evening, and Arthur tried not to fidget over the small square box in his pocket. When Arthur was twenty-seven, just before dessert arrived, Eames smiled and placed his own small square box on the table in front of Arthur, saying that he wanted to make Arthur’s wish come true. 

And when Arthur was twenty-seven, he stared at the box and touched the almost identical one in his pocket and probably said the worst thing anyone had ever said in response to a heartfelt proposal. When Arthur was twenty-seven, he called Eames an asshole and slammed his own small box on the table, and when Arthur was twenty-seven, Eames first sat back in concern, then leaned forward in confusion, then laughed so much his eyes watered, calling Arthur _darling, oh darling_ for endless minutes.

One week before Arthur turned twenty-eight, he and Eames were married in a small Parisian church, with a small, quiet ceremony, and one week before Arthur turned twenty-eight, he promised Eames he’d always watch his back, and Eames promised Arthur he’d always stand by his side, and together, they knew, just like they had as kids, that nothing would be ever able to keep them apart.

When Arthur was twenty-eight, and he and Eames were in the States for research purposes, they ran into Ariadne, who had become a prominent architect in dream-sharing. And when Arthur was twenty-eight, he blushed deeply as Ariadne spotted their rings and shrieked and shouted and chastised and complained and gushed, and when Arthur was twenty-eight, he and Eames had to explain everything to Ariadne—and later, Cobb, and then, for some reason, Yusuf—and finally tell the truth.

And when Arthur was twenty-eight, while Eames laughed maniacally at Cobb’s anger that Eames wasn’t really British, while Ariadne grinned and said how happy she was for the both of them, Arthur looked over at Eames and laced their fingers together, and when Arthur was twenty-eight, Eames looked back and smiled and kissed Arthur’s cheek, murmuring _I love you, Arthur._


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames worried that things would get strange once Ariadne and Cobb and Yusuf found out about him and Arthur, but it all goes smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been a while! I had to revisit to the Land of the Living for a bit, but I have returned!

Eames worried that things would get strange once Ariadne and Cobb and Yusuf found out about him and Arthur, but it all goes smoothly. Of course, Yusuf doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut, so Eames and Arthur start getting flooded with emails on all seven of their various accounts by the end of the week, reading _WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME?_ and _Congratulations to the happy couple!_ and _Idiots, why did you elope??? I wanted to be the best man!_

Things actually get a little easier for them after Yusuf spills the beans, because extractors know automatically to ask for both Eames and Arthur if they want them for a job. And it’s every one of Eames’ fantasies come true to stare at the ring on Arthur’s finger, or press a quick kiss to Arthur’s forehead on his way out of the room, or run a hand along the back of Arthur’s neck as he passes by, and not have to worry about what anyone else will think. Eames is in heaven.

~+~+~

The night of Eames’ thirty-third birthday, some idiot sends a bunch of goons to try to kidnap him and Arthur while they’re on their way to their dinner reservation. They both fight the fools off, and interrogate one to get their boss’ name, and nobody is killed, but Eames’ favorite shirt is irreparably torn, and Arthur has scuff marks on his favorite leather shoes. Arthur declares that they can’t possibly go to dinner dressed like this, so they go back home and change, but by then they’ve missed their reservation, and Eames suggests they abandon their tickets to that night’s Broadway performance as well.

So they spend Eames’ thirty-third birthday camped out on their bed, legs tangled together, heads resting on shoulders, and have a Marvel Movie Marathon. And it’s one of the best birthdays Eames has ever had—and, actually, one of the least eventful.

~+~+~

Arthur tracks down the would-be kidnappers’ boss, leaves to visit the man, does something that properly scares him—Eames doesn’t care enough to ask for details—and returns home within four days, smiling broadly. Eames kisses him and says he’s so proud of his knight in shining armor, and Arthur blushes and tells him to shut up.

Everything is perfect.

~+~+~

They retire from dream-share when they’re in their late thirties. They move—permanently—into their Paris home, and they spend the rest of their lives eating Arthur’s favorite scones and remembering their adventures as dream thieves.

And if there is a PASIV tucked away in a secret compartment of their closet—well, Arthur and Eames don’t go spreading that around. And if they sometimes come out of retirement for a day or a week or two, to help Ariadne out in a job, or to instruct some rookies in the basics of dream-sharing, or to just have a grand old time shooting projections and Forging people and doing other impossible things—well, they don’t go spreading that around, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to extend a HUGE thank you to everyone who's followed along! (Especially [flosculatory](http://archiveofourown.org/users/flosculatory/pseuds/flosculatory)\--thanks for commenting on every single chapter!!!)
> 
> I hope you all have enjoyed!


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